Creative Writing: Fallmire

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A copious mist hung amidst the trees; endless and impenetrable with the thickness of the primordial fog that blurred the vision of any mortal. A blanket for the evil, and safe haven for the guilty that ran through FallMire. A boy no older than 19 years old, strode through the Forest on hasty legs. His sturdy build and good looks buried beneath a dirty, blue and red Baseball Cap, that hid most of his tousled, dirty-blonde hair. He wore nothing but a blue hoodie with a loose fitting t-shirt beneath, that hung over the waist of his baggy Jeans that were slightly worn; falling over his once white, running sneakers. The howl of a Wolf ripped through the air, and he paled. Feeling as the swift, cold twinge of fear, hasten the speed of his legs. …show more content…

Where the ghostly whistles of the wind, sang through the trees, casting shadows on the dimly lit Forest floor. The only source of light being the moon above, which glistened atop the leaves that still clung to the branches of Cedar and Pinewood. His blonde hair whipped against his face, causing him to grunt in annoyance at the length. His skin pricked by thorns he encountered mere minutes ago, making blots of fresh blood, seep from the tiny wounds on his left arm. The cold of the night glanced his skin, causing pimples to rise on his flustered flesh, making him shiver despite the heat he felt in his lower abdomen. A twig popped behind him, and his head flew around. Only to be greeted by more darkness and the thick mist that had formed out of nowhere. His breathing hastened, and he clutched his …show more content…

"I-, I'm sorry. I was being chased by something in the Woods-," he started but was quickly interrupted by the Stranger. "Don't your Parents warn you about going in the Forest at night?" The stranger asked harshly, turning his flashlight off. He could see that the Man had a Gun, holstered on the side of his Jeans beneath the Leather Jacket he wore. And his eyes traveled up to his face; a rather handsome and rugged face. A long, distinct scar trailed from the stranger's forehead, down beneath his left eye, which was casted over by white, apparently blinded by whatever inflicted the scar. "It bit me," he huffed heavily as he rose to his feet, and the stranger gazed at his hand, but there was nothing there for him to see. Not a scar nor bruise, which made the younger man gaze at his own hand confusedly. Convinced that he had gone crazy, even more so from the odd look he received from the Stranger. "What?" The stranger asked raising an eyebrow at him in speculation. "I-, I don't. I don't understand-," he tried speaking but his lapsed breathing stopped him from speaking

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